


The Rape of Loki Laufeyson

by SlowEvolution



Category: The Avengers (2012), Thor (2011)
Genre: AU, Community: norsekink, M/M, Prompt Fic, rape as punishment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-18
Updated: 2012-06-18
Packaged: 2017-11-08 01:27:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/437614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlowEvolution/pseuds/SlowEvolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even a Prince brought low is still ever a Prince.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rape of Loki Laufeyson

**Author's Note:**

> A slowly and painfully worked fill for the following NorseKink prompt :
> 
> On the heels of those "rape as retribution/punishment" prompts....
> 
> As a member of the royal family, the rape of a prince would be another matter entirely. Bound on his back, on a bed with his legs splayed, Loki would be prepared and checked by healers who would ensure that no lasting damage came to him as a result, and each of those he had wronged and betrayed would take their payment, one by one.
> 
> so yeah, part harlequin, part horror, and utterly humiliating and filthy. Bring it.

 

 

It's said that in the millenia long gone, before even memory, the warrior blood lust of the Asgardians knew no bounds; and in those ancient times their people knew one king after another, royal status saving none from the brutality that sang in their veins. It was only the king that was before Odin's Father's Father that brought about the laws now barring the common man and the soldier from laying hands to those considered royalty. Even the nobles were restricted in the liberties they could take with their royal family's persons. Protection neither began nor ended in the laying of hands, but extended into the intricacies of goods never to be allowed within sight of the great court, speech never to be uttered before royal blood, and even great lists of interminable offenses meant to protect the realms King and Queen from even boredom.  
  
It was only those ancient laws that brought any illusion of gentleness upon Loki when finally he was captured and brought back to the golden halls of Asgards court.  
  
For crimes and slights innumerable he was bound before the Allfather and the family he had once known as his own, but it was only the finest of silks permitted to encircle his wrists, trapping his hands together at his front like a misbehaving child pleading leniency, delicate brushes of the finest hair bristles sweeping across his lips to form runes to bind his tongue and the magic it could wreak and in any other realm his handling and his bindings were foreplay and luxuries.  
  
For in Asgard it was Death to any man that dared to lay coarse rope upon a Prince, let alone shackles of unyielding iron or steel. Even a Prince of Lies and Destruction, meant to pay for centuries of madness and mischief most grave.

 

* * *

  
  
" _Loki_. Son of my heart. You have brought upon yourself punishment most grave. "  
  
Loki studies his father and wonders what the wise king means him to feel with such sentimental words. Odin's _sentiments_ are laughable things. He is an aged King who won't think twice about banishing his only flesh and blood heir, stripped of his power no less, all the while he can barely remain on the throne.  
  
And what a happy chain of events he unleashed in so doing. Centuries of rebellion. Immortal lifetimes of the mayhem of a broken heart. Whatever else his once father and King proclaims, Loki does not hear it; ears open only to the final declaration, his punishment.  
  
" -and you _will_ be made to understand, so too our people can understand. You think too greatly of your own power. I am at fault for this. Being the younger, there was no place for you on the throne; only the place beside it. I spared you then the grimmest burdens, allowed you the freedom of a Prince, the magics and the power, with no counterbalance. Allowed you the joys, with little of the sorrows. Let your time be your own, and so too your counsel. I let you be a boy."  Here the Allfather could not help but pause and sigh. Loki tore at him so, ever trying to hack away and dissolve their familial bonds, forgetting that blood was but iron and water, but love was ever so much more.  
  
Love could only still his tongue but for a moment. He pressed on; head held high and voice unwavering though he could not meet his adopted sons gaze. Odin was grateful for his golden armor then, forged and hammered metal that held his posture ramrod straight when he felt little more than the urge to curl up and hide away, be done with this ugly business.  
  
" You are a boy no more. You are a man who twelve score battalion have hunted and chased and taken injury over. Many of them sped off to the greater life of Valhalla by your hand. You are war and chaos. You are the death of fathers and husbands and men who had yet to become either."  
  
When the butt of Gungnir strikes the ground the hall falls silent. Those whispered discussions about the Prince's fate end abruptly and all eyes watch as Odin tears from his own breast plate a golden disc, symbol of his rule and more declaration of his kingship than any helm or crown could ever be in a world where every common soldier wore such things; setting it upon Thor's own armor with an undisguised disgusted sneer.  
  
" War begets spoils. That is what you are. The spoil of a weary army. The treasure for which so many have lost their lives. Long has Asgard rewarded its victorious soldiers with a share of that which they win for the realm. This can and will not change now. "  
  
Now this is interesting to Loki. So his once-father means to give him to the soldiers. Those runes painted upon his lips which keep his words checked do nothing to keep back the mad smile that lights his face. Just what would those soldiers want with him, he wonders. The ones who live still are well informed of him. He doubts there are any who would risk what remains of themselves for the short lived pleasure taking a whip to his back or whatever other petty punishment they can dream up.  
  
" So, you _begin_ to understand. "  
  
Loki can not help but bow his head under the weight of the Allfather's stern gaze, though it settles just shy of his face. Oh his petty lessons. Odin the wise, ever trying to raise those around him into his privileged point of view. Loki gives no sign of the clenched forewarning in his gut, his mind ever working over the tangled knots of Odin's meanings.  
  
" It is.. my duty. It should be I who proves your powerlessness first. It has been I who points the armies of Asgard after you, and so too my fault when they hungered or thirsted or dreamed of home again. It is only for love of my Queen that I can not do this thing, though it is my right and my burden. Asgard will see the truth of you now. A spoil of war.. you are powerless. Not made so by bindings and runes, but by my command. I who am your king still, authority over all things in this realm, including this. "  
  
At a nod from his father a small team of healers make their approach towards him, freeing his wrists from the knots there. Loki doesn't bother to rub the soreness away. He only smirks at the one who leans the closest, wiping away the runes painted upon his lips; and never being one to deny the assembled court the dramatics they so desire, he snaps his jaws at the woman, as if to bite her.  
  
" Loki. Lift a finger against any man today and you sign the immediate warrant of your death. No further trial, no return. Make peace now with the kingdom you rebelled against, and you will be pardoned. Prince of Asgard once more; take your place again and leave behind these misspent centuries of childish anguish. "  
  
" You ask so nicely, _father_. "  
  
Odin can not help but close his eyes against the sight of his adopted sons minor rebellion, though it does not keep the words from his ears. He does reach out to Thor, pressing him forwards with a hand at his back. His heir knows what he must do.  
  
" Thor. Today you act for your king. Today you act as King. Serve your realm well. Return your brother to us. "  
  
The healers that have so far remained at Loki's side take gentle hold of him and lay him back on the table prepared as a bed. Finally shock crashes over him, the understanding of what Odin means, what he's calling for. It is the vile poison of love and hate and whatever ugly thing is birthed between the two that keeps him down though he is not restrained and stills his tongue.  
  
Today he will be a spoil of war. A victim to the lust of his not-father's army. Tomorrow a Prince again. Oh and how he will make them all pay then. Restored to a position of power again, he will remain aside the throne until he burns all of Asgard to nothing.

* * *

  
Poison colored eyes are trained on the arches of the golden hall's vaulted ceiling, but Loki isn't taken in by the architectural details that make his once-home unique in all the worlds; his ears pick up on the sounds of Thor's clumsy approach but he isn't taken with that either. It's only in a split second thought that he wonders if he'll even be _able_ to do what Odin asks of him. Oh but the answer is right _there_ , so easy to see. That little trip to Midgard did Thor so much good. A lifetime amongst mortals made friends and playing hero to that middle realm filled with men and women with no comprehension of who and what he really is. Pity, Loki thinks, he'd tried so hard time and time again to show them just for fun and now.. well.. now.  
  
There is still fight in him; it roils and bubbles even now beneath the surface of calm that he projects. This body hasn't been given to any yet. There were too many spells and tricks and mischiefs that held nonsense rules of purity and virginity _and what one has to do with the other is a mystery he's never cracked_. Still, he'd valued those magics more than the thought of an hour or twelve spent sweating and writhing into his sheets for the pleasure of an orgasm. He knows he was born an impure thing, Jotun or Aesir or both or none, it isn't race that defines him but the secret deeper than the marrow of his bones, that magic which makes any god what he is. He is Chaos. Mischief. A slippery thing; too much so to spend any given time warming a bed, being a lover of anything. Love is short in him anyway; but this stripping of his choice.. now that was unexpected. Unthought-of. Who would force Chaos? Oh, pride and vanity. Of course it would be **Thor**.  
  
The quiet commotion of heated whispers and killing intent brings him out of thought and regret and the nest of evil that is his mind. At his unbound feet stand the court's healers, chins tilted up in defiance of the guards he hadn't heard stomp up. A stalemate. Those artists of herbs and salves and life will not move, will not grant access to Thor whatever his command might be; and those guards will not hesitate longer much to separate them from their heads if they do not recall who it is they are in the way of. He knows the conflict that stalls his punishment useless minutes longer. Crime, crime, crime. _Dishonor_. Whatever a soldier of Asgard does in the burning cities of a realm conquered is none's affair but his own but this is no smoldering hovel and Loki no nameless body to be sold into slavery or used to satisfy a squadrons pleasure. He is a Prince, and not even another Prince may lay brutal hands on him and cause him harm. And Thor would cause harm. He is dressed for court; strapped and buckled into his armor as though he marches for war, and Asgardian armor is not just defense but offense as well. The steel of his plated dress would carve such interesting pattern into Loki's skin if he were just to march up, draw his cock out and impale him upon it, leaned over him and thrusted away uncaring of the skin peeled back and flesh rendered open in so many more ways than just the one intended.  
  
It tempers the desperation in him to see the suffering in Thor's eyes. For being built of mass so akin to stone, all bulk, Thor is ever chasing speed. He wants this over and done with already and for just a moment Loki is glad of his own prolonged suffering if it is to be so exquisitely shared.


End file.
